


so, won't you take it?

by safeandsound13sreputationera (safeandsound13)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, F/M, Groundhog Day, timeloop AU, yeah again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13sreputationera
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke get stuck in a timeloop because Clarke has been faking her orgasms.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 64
Kudos: 273
Collections: Bellarke smut, The 100 Kinkmeme Round 2020





	1. don't you keep it all to yourself

**Author's Note:**

> previously titled once more, with feeling. twas time to stan little mix instead.
> 
> prompt: Bellamy and Clarke are stuck in a time loop because Clarke's been faking her orgasms

To Clarke’s surprise it takes them longer to get here than she expected. 

Not counting the massacrest they committed in the name of their people, and the six years separated by the distance between earth and space, that led up to a 130 years of sleep while they travelled to a new planet, a moon with two suns, and then the whole out of body experience she had. Even without counting all of that, it still took them a while. 

After they finally took took down Russell and his band of mind drives, and had started to settle in Sanctum, even _ then _ it took them a while. Bellamy almost died, trying to save his sister, and Clarke had yelled her deepest, darkest secrets at him, begging, pleading him to stay with her. Fingers covered in blood, pressing against his chest, mouth tasting like salt talking about how she could live without him, something they had both proven many times over, but how she didn’t want to. How after all they had been through, separately and together, she still wanted  _ him _ . Reached for him. Needed him. 

Deserved him. Because after the countless of times she had given her all to save their people, she had learned to be selfish. Earned the right to be selfish. And selfishly, she wanted him, for herself, by her side. 

After all the people who wanted them dead, wanted their bone marrow, wanted their bodies; after all the apocalypses, as in plural, as in multiple apocalypses scorning their bodies and minds and souls; planets they saved, planets they ruined, planets they destroyed — _this_ was not going to be it. 

Bellamy wasn’t going to die here, in her arms, not after all the miles they’d travelled, all the years that had went by, all the lives that had been lost to get to where they were now. His life was never supposed to be one of them, never supposed to be an acceptable loss. So with quivering hands and wet eyes, she simply refused. 

“A little sword wound isn’t going to stop us now, okay?” She’d told him, pressing down harder against his sternum. So much blood, and she still had faith. This was not going to be how their story ends. 

The breath of laughter he’d let out, despite the paleness of his face, the trembling of his fingers, the layer of sweat covering his skin, sparked joy through her entire system. He was going to get through this, they were going to get out on the other side, do it all together. “Jus-just a minor… minor in-inconvenience,” he’d choked out with a watery smile, mouth stained red, still making jokes just to make her feel better. 

Even after all of _ that _ , it took them a while. 

Bellamy needed time to recover, of course. Even if they kept him hanging on long enough, her words of faith didn’t magically heal his wounds, weren’t a miraculous substitute for modern medicine. There was still a fair amount of surgery needed, hours spent waiting outside of a room, cursing Jackson’s name, threatening people with bodily harm if they didn’t stop forcing her to leave to eat, or sleep, or shower. 

But he’d kissed her, as soon as he woke up to find her by the side of his bed. Asked her to check a small cut on his cheekbone, weaving his hand into her wavy hair as soon as she was close enough, groaned a little from the pain of suddenly straining his arm. In the end they were both too busy smiling like idiots to really call it a kiss, so they tried again. He tasted like metal and regret and so much promise. They never talked about it, but they were both sure of it. They finally got where they were always supposed to get.

At first Clarke was content, just like this. The press of his mouth against hers in greeting, his hand swallowing hers as they made their way down to the town square for supper, his arm a heavy weight across her waist as they lay together, trying to catch up on all the sleep they’d missed over the years. The giggles he would get out of Madi that Clarke had never managed to in all their years together, the sound of his voice in the morning all groggy and thick with sleep, the look on his face when she showed him the drawings of her favorite Josephine-untainted memories, most of them including him. 

She could even get lost in their stupid arguments, although they hardly compared to the ones they had back in the day, now more about why she never learned to fold her clothes properly or why he had to hug her all sweaty and overheated after he came back from a run, instead of deciding who got to live and die. 

It wasn’t all good. There was some bad. Some doubts left lingering, some ugly scarred wounds ripped open, a lot of things they never said. There was his overwhelming overprotectiveness making her feel suffocated, and her overbearing need to self-sabotage always silently begging him to make a run for it. It wasn’t perfect, but that was okay. They were still working on it. They were taking their time re-learning each other, re-learning the people they’d become without each other, re-learning who they were together like this.

Over time, Clarke got antsy though. She would feel his heated fingers on the back of her neck for hours after he rubbed her there in greeting, teasing about all the tension she kept there. Every time he’d put his hand possessively on top of her knee or thigh in public because someone else just looked at her funny, her centre would be left aching and wanting and her voice would squeak the next time she spoke. She’d feel her herself get slick with need just watching him help rebuild the ruined cabins on the outer edge of the city, hard muscles moving beneath smooth golden brown skin. 

It was not like he was completely unaffected. She’d awoken to him hard against the curve of her ass before, saw his pupils dilate darkly whenever she undressed for the night, saw him swallow tightly after pulling away from a heated make-out session. Usually because Madi would come barging in, yelling about a new sort of fruit Miller had made her try or some lunar crate Jordan had shown her just now. But he never reached out, touched her in any other way but politely, carefully, always checking her eyes to gauge her reaction to him. 

They both agreed there was no more time to waste, yet something kept holding them back. Maybe her telling him to use his head lingered with him, and they were both overthinking it, no longer acting on instinct. Something stopped her from pushing too much, afraid it would break something irreparably. 

She figured they just needed some more time. That the natural conclusion to all this build up tension couldn’t be much farther away when they had already waited  _ this  _ long. Besides, in most of the moments they got to spend time together, Madi was always there, and if she wasn’t someone else was asking for their help with something. They were tired, too. Long, hard days of rebuilding their safe place to live, tending to their left-over wounded and fighting not to have to make any hard decisions anymore. Bodies sore and aching at the end of the day, falling asleep within seconds of their heads hitting the pillow. 

The dust would settle eventually, she kept telling herself. It would settle, and they could finally take the next step.

It was almost ironic it ended up being Unity Day when things finally came to a close. They’d both been drinking a little, playing quarters for old time’s sake, his warm and heavy arm slung across her shoulders as they watched their people, many of which she again considered friends, dance  — happy,  _ free,  _ the reason why. 

And when Madi, mid-twirl on the makeshift dance floor, announced she was going to sleep over at Murphy and Emori’s place while mentioning a ‘collection of knives’, Clarke couldn’t deny her eyes eagerly met Bellamy’s dark ones over the rim of her cup. 

A better mother probably would’ve asked what kind of ‘collection of knives’ she exactly meant, but she just gracefully accepted the kiss her daughter pressed on her cheek before she disappeared into the crowd. Knowing their luck, she’d probably be safest with them anyway.

With a small buzz coursing through her veins, it’s much easier to repress all the reasons why they shouldn’t do this when they both want it so badly. All the intrusive thoughts she had before about why they should wait, no longer make any sense when she reaches up to press her mouth against his and he tastes like beer and security. 

“Want to get out of here?” She murmurs against his lips, entirely too suggestive, kissing him once more before pulling back enough to take a better look at his face. 

Bellamy licks his lips, tightening her arm around her shoulders to tug her closer, fit his mouth over hers again. His eyes gleam with something dark and dangerous, and she finds she likes it a little too much. “Definitely.”


	2. i'd wait a million more for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i hope this doesnt suck its so hard to write your fave characters with flaws :(((((((  
> also felt weird to do this in two chaps when theres an obvious split in the story so the third one is coming very soon its almost finished

Bellamy has her pressed against the door of her cabin in no time, fingers slowly unbuttoning the top of her henley as their mouths move together. Clarke tries to up the pace a little, starting on his belt buckle, but he laughs into her mouth, covering her small, pale hands with his much bigger ones. 

“Easy,” he whispers, placing her hands on his waist, before pressing closer again. Body hot against hers, even through their clothes. Heart rattling in her chest. “We’ve got time.”

She nods, sliding her hands over his ribs to his broad back, even if the tension between her thighs keeps growing to heights she never imagined it could, figuring he’s right. They can do slow. Take their time. 

Clarke closes her eyes as he licks into her mouth, exploring it leisurely. Her fingers grasp his shirt tightly, head lolling farther back as they part for air and he starts pressing kisses down her throat. Every single one of them sends little sparks of joy down her spine.

One of his hands move the unbuttoned collar of her shirt aside so he can suck a mark into the exposed, fleshy part of her breast, one big hand palming her through her shirt. She lets out a little content sigh, fingers curling into the hair at the back of his head.

Bellamy backs up just enough for her to pull her shirt over her head, both of them laughing quietly as she gets stuck on the tag in the back. Delicately, he helps tug her hair free from her shirt, smiles all fondly as he smooths the frizzy mess down, tucks a lock behind her ear before leaning in to kiss her again. 

The next time they part, his shirt follows and her hands explore his skin; warm, smooth, scarred. She presses against him harder, wants to be as close as possible, wants to feel him everywhere possible, covering her, consuming her, but he just moves back a little, taking more weight off her as he leads her over to the bed, both hands pulling her along.

Eager to get back to him, Clarke pushes her pants down her hips while he loses his, and then he’s pressing her down softly into the mattress. She impatiently reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, but he bands an arm around her waist, hoisting them both higher up on the bed and temporarily halting her movements. 

For a while, they kiss just like that, his hands rubbing up and down her sides while hers curl into his hair, scrape his scalp with her nails softly. Bellamy starts pressing kisses down her throat again, enjoying the little hums she lets out as her eyes flutter shut. 

When he reaches her sternum, he pulls back a little, looking at her. He rakes her face, looking for answers to questions she doesn’t know. There’s something in his eyes she can’t quite decipher, beyond the love and admiration there, beyond their softness. 

Clarke pushes herself up on her elbows, meeting his mouth again, letting him know it’s okay, that it’s just them. He relaxes under her touch, melting into her, only leaning back on his elbow to hover over her when they’re both out of breath. 

Still, his hands tremble as he moves one strap of her bra down her shoulder, and then the other. This isn’t very like him, but then again, she’s discovering new sides of him everyday. She catches his palm, intertwines his fingers with hers before pressing a kiss to the back of it. Looking up at him through her lashes, she murmurs against the warm skin of his hand, “Are you nervous?”

He offers her a shaky grin, and the uncertainty there makes her heart ache. “A little.”

“You don’t have to be,” she promises quietly, running her thumb along his knuckles, even if she’s anxious herself. There’s nothing he could possibly do or say that would make her love him any less. Not after everything. 

“It’s just — ” He licks his lips, shaking his head lightly. Conflict over his face. She wishes she could read his face better in the darkness. A small huff of self-deprecating laughter, his eyes flicking back up to hers, and then, “It’s been a long time coming.”

Clarke feels it too. Like somehow everything’s build up to this, like somehow she could still find some way to ruin it. But this,  _ this  _ is not the accumulation of all the years they spend apart trying to find each other. It’s everytime she looks in his eyes and it feels like coming home, every time their mouths touch and all her worries fade away, or he tells her he loves her and she feels a sense of belonging she hasn’t ever before.  _ This  _ is just a bonus. 

She squeezes his hand. “I trust you.”

After a long second he finally nods, pressing his mouth against hers in the middle of it, pupils fat with want before he closes his eyes. His thumbs hook into her underwear as he helps her to take it off. She giggles at little, skin flushed and prickling with anticipation, watching him curse under his breath as it gets stuck behind her ankle. He’s so eager to get it off, it takes him another two tries to finally unhook it.

“Stop laughing at me,” he orders half-seriously, eyebrows raised, his face far from upset before he pushes down his own boxers, kicking them off. And she does, because,  _ well. _ She’s felt him before, underneath the fabric of his jeans as they made-out or against the curve of her ass in the early morning hours. Still, it’s a lot to take in as he crawls back over her, hard length pressed against her belly while they kiss. 

She gasps into his mouth as he slides into her, even though she’s wet enough for it to be easy  — the sheer way he fills her completely making her entire body tingle. After a moment of her adjusting, he starts moving in and out of her, slow and shallow and torturous, whispering sweet nothings into the side of her neck. Asking her if she’s okay, how she feels, telling her how good she feels and how much he loves her. 

It’s good, really good, just not quite getting her there yet. 

And he’s so loving, and tentative, and gentle. In all the dreams she’s had over the years, collected and put together from scraps of whispered ghost-stories from girls across their camp and her own wildest fantasies in deep dark moments of pining, in some of them he was exactly like that. Soft, and sweet, and treating her like she was the most special thing in the world. So — _gentle_. 

Clarke feels herself growing frustrated even as he presses his thumb against her clit, rubbing soft, small circles. She’s so close, on the precipice of  _ something _ as she falls, and falls, but never lands. She can feel him holding back, the strain in his muscles, knows he won’t be able to last much longer. Remembers his nerves from earlier, his self-doubt and the amount of pressure he puts on himself, how good he always wants to be for her. 

It could be her little secret. She can just give him this, have him make up for it later. So she bites back a moan, clenching around him in a silent shudder. He falls apart seconds after, collapsing on top of her. Bellamy peppers kisses across her shoulder as he bands his arms around her waist, rolling them over onto their sides. His skin is hot and sweaty and sticky, his breath fanning against her neck, chest heaving against hers. She pulls him closer, one hand weaving into his hair, nails scratching his scalp softly as she helps him come down.  _ This _ is her favorite part. Being surrounded by him. 

So she didn’t come. Clarke can hardly be bothered by it, when it feels this good just being held by him. When she loves kissing him, from soft, compelling lips against hers to wet and hot make-out sessions that leave them both panting. She likes turning him on, feeling him hard against her, shivering under her touch, the effect she has on him. She likes watching his face as she tries to take him, inch by inch, the pride written all over it as she did just that, making her flush with warmth. She likes making him proud. She likes it being just the two of them, entangled in giving and taking, making each other feel good. And she loves the after, his arms tightly around her just like this, wishing this moment could last forever. Where, for just a little while, they can just be. She can just be loved by him, not worry about anything else that’s usually weighing her down. Next time would be different, but this time was their first, and it was special. 

Bellamy turns onto his back, Clarke’s cheek pillowed on his bicep as her nails rake up and down his chest gently. He stares at her, like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and her cheeks heat, heartbeat tripping in her chest. She has to actively keep herself from squirming under his gaze and pressing her thighs together to relieve some of the tension that’s been building there ever since the party. 

  
He cups her chin, roughly whispers, “I really love you,” before leaning over to kiss her slowly while his thumb smooths down her cheek. Clarke can only sigh softly into his mouth, because, yeah, this is  _ nice.  _ It isn’t long before they both drift off to sleep, bodies spent and tangled together.


	3. and all the pieces fall (right into place)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last part. hope you enjoy:)
> 
> and NO ONE slander my boy bellamy he was going through it!

The first time they’re pressed back against the door, they both just nervously laugh a little. Like both of them collectively just decided that the following thirty minutes we’re just a flashforward they both conjured up in preparation for the real thing. A fucked up sort of déjà vû feeling, cooked up by nerves and years spent fantasizing about one another.

The second time, as soon as he reaches to tug her hair behind her ear, she wraps her fingers around his wrist, stopping him. She searches his eyes, finds the same confusion there as she’s currently feeling. Her eyebrows are pinched together as she asks, “Is it just me or did we just do this twice already?”

“It’s not just you,” he mumbles darkly, before his face falls completely, like he was just holding it together for her. Tiredly, he scrubs a hand over it, before his eyes fixate on her collarbone with a deep, thoughtful frown. 

A heavy silence lingers between them, and Clarke can’t help but be stubborn. 

This could be something normal. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s their moment, and she won’t let it be ruined by whatever the universe concocted up for them now. There’s always fucking  _ something _ , and call it denial, but as soon as he meets her gaze they’re kissing again, like acknowledging the fact they’re having the same hallucination will somehow change anything. 

The third time it happens, she gives in to the uncomfortable pit in her stomach and after two minutes of pretending everything is the way it’s supposed to be, sits down on the bed in her bra and pants. She stares up at him with aggravation in her eyes as her fingers tighten on the edge of the mattress. They both know it. Something is wrong.

Bellamy shakes his head lightly, jaw clenched, hands folded in front of his mouth. “Fucking temporal anomaly,” he practically growls, and Clarke is not afraid to admit it does nothing to quell the tension that’s built up between her thighs. 

But, there’s a problem, and like always, they need to fix it first. Priorities and all. She purses her lips, considering it. “You think that’s what this is?”

He tilts his head, incredulous, hands now on his hips. “What else could it possibly be?”

Clarke shrugs half-heartedly. He’s probably right. It would make sense. Just because Russell was gone and Bellamy and his sister stopped the anomaly from destroying space and time as they knew it, didn’t mean the planet would stop fucking with them. It was Bellamy and Clarke they were talking about after all. When did they ever catch a break?

Because it’s they’re Bellamy and Clarke, they come up with a game plan, try and break the loop. Just because she wishes she could stay in the moment forever, doesn’t mean they should. It would make her a horrible mother, both of them terrible friends and leaders. 

They try to leave the room, but as soon as they both pass the threshold, they just end up back at the door. So then Bellamy goes on his own one time, only for her to realize after hours that wherever her went, he can’t come back. Another time, Clarke tries to radio for someone, but there’s just static on the other end. One time they even wait, sit down on the bed with their backs against the wall until their bodies are too tired to keep their eyes open anymore, and they eventually drift off to sleep. 

Only to end up back against the fucking door. Every damn time. 

Bellamy sighs loudly, squeezing her waist as he rests his forehead against her collarbone for a moment. When he lifts it to meet her gaze, there’s a defeated look on his face. “You know, when me and Octavia where stuck playing that fucked up version of lily pads we kept trying to win the game, keep from touching the floor, the way we used to play it.” He clears his throat tightly, thick from emotion at the memory. “But it didn’t stop until her feet touched the ground.” He averts his eyes, lost in thought. “The way they were always supposed to. First one on the ground, loses.”

_ We’re back, bitches.  _ It’s frightening to think the universe always had a plan for them, a way things were supposed to be. Calming in some ways, maybe. Frustrating in others, because if anything, Clarke resents not being able to make her own choices. 

“So something we’re doing isn’t the way it’s supposed to be?” She deducts after a beat, her voice sounding like it’s coming from far away. She has some ideas about what that ‘something’ may be and she really doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. 

Their gazes lock, and Clarke’s skin crawls with the urge to look away, yet she can’t. When was the last time she lied to him? She can’t remember. “Maybe we’re not supposed to..” His voice breaks off, and she immediately crinkles up her forehead. 

“That can’t be it,” she argues, more heated than necessary, pushing him aside so she can plop down on the bed. She just resents the implication that doing this is somehow wrong, when they resisted for so long and the obvious answer is  _ right _ there. One even she can see through the crazy fog of hormones swirling through her body. He just doesn’t seem to realize it. Which isn’t even really his fault, because he doesn’t know and she covered it up, but she can’t help but feel bothered by it anyway. “There’s times we didn’t have sex, and it still didn’t break the loop.”

He nods curtly, once, his jaw tight as he goes over the other options in his head. Clarke can’t stand him when he gets like this, all stubborn and filled with unjustified rage just because it’s the emotion within him he can grasp the most clearly, and still she loves him, loves him  _ so _ much it’s just frustrating she has to deny the truth to herself and him for no other reason than that it might hurt him if she doesn’t. 

She was lying to herself when she said they could do slow. They’ve done slow. She wants something else from him. And she should start with the truth. Clarke takes a deep breath, licking her lips. She wipes her damp palms on her thighs. “Bell, I think…”

He walks up to her, folds his hand around the side of her neck. “What?”

She closes her eyes because she can’t look at his face, turning her head to bump her nose into his forearm before just coming out with it, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t come.”

He physically freezes up making her squeeze her eyes shut harder while she braces for impact, and it takes another second for him to boom, “What?”

Her heart pounds heavily in her chest as she repeats herself, “I never orgasmed.”

“I know what you  _ meant _ , Clarke,” he seethes, pulling his hand back to scrub at his face. “Fuck.”

“Don’t worry,” she tries, standing up to put a hand in between his shoulder blades, rubbing softly. “It was still good.”

He turns on his heels, her hand dropping back down. His eyes are not so much dark with anger as they are with hurt. “You expect me to believe that after you couldn’t even tell me.” His voice gets impossibly small, and she feels sick. “I thought you said you trusted me.”

“I do!” She says quickly, desperate, taking a step toward him, but he dodges her, walking over to the bed. Clarke turns, a lump in her throat she heavily tries to swallow down. This is the last thing she wanted. 

“God,” he curses, sinking down on the mattress, elbows on his knees as he looks up at her finally. Disgust washes over his face, and her whole body protests when she realizes it’s directed at himself. There’s something wrong with her, not him. Never him. “Were you afraid to tell me what you wanted? What you liked? Did you think I would get mad at you? Lash out?”

“No, no. It wasn’t that at all,” she hurries to say, frozen in place as she tilts her head, pleading almost, “You have to believe me.”

His voice is so soft she almost misses it breaking. “Then why?”

She watches the realisation of their conversation set into his face, and she takes all the courage inside of her, all the faith in the two of them, belief in him for who he is as a person, and steps closer. “Why were you really nervous?”

Bellamy shakes his head lightly, like he can’t possibly fathom why she would ask such a thing in a moment like this. “Clarke, you just told me — ”

She closes the final distance between them, so their knees almost brush. She’s made up her mind, and she’s not deviating from it. “Tell me the truth and I will too.”

“ _ Becaus _ e — ” He starts out, aggravated, out of habit, then deflates as he ponders the actual answer to her question. His face still crinkled with frustration, but there’s something much softer in his eyes. “Because. I’ve never done this before with someone I love.” There’s a bitter scoff lined with amusement as his eyes bore into hers. “Or I guess I have now, like what, six times?”

She nods slowly, corners of her mouth quirked up in  _ ‘this could only happen to us’ _ solidarity as she watches him carefully. With a loud sigh, Bellamy, apparently tired of having to hold back from her, bands an arm around her thighs, pulling her down until she’s halfway sitting in his lap. Clarke wraps her fingers around his biceps to steady herself as he brings up a shaky thumb, tracing over the bridge of her nose before dragging it down to the beauty mark above her pink lips. 

“You know,” she croaks out, the look in his eyes combined with the tension in the room suddenly all too much, heart swelling impossibly in her chest. “I don’t need you to be gentle with me to prove to me you love me.” She tightens her fingers around his arms, resting her forehead against his. “I know you do.”

Another beat passes before he quietly asks, “Is that why?” His tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “You thought I was being too gentle?”

“It was great,” she re-assures him, because it’s important to her he knows this, pulling her face back so she can look at him better. It’s hard to find the right words, but she manages. “It just  — wasn’t enough to get me there.”

“I —” He cuts himself off by shaking his head, mostly to himself. “I wanted it to be good for you, and I figured, or I thought that’s what you liked. You know, something more passionate and slow. I didn’t know what you were expecting, so I just thought—”

She can’t stop smiling. “Look at you, using your head.”

He ducks his head with a small groan. “Shut up.”

Her hand comes up to hold the side of his face against her chest, raking her fingers through his hair. They’re quiet for a moment, before Clarke tries to explain it, “It wasn’t passion-less, but it didn’t feel like you. Probably because you were holding back, trying to please me—”

He pulls away from her touch, lifting his head to look at her, deadpanning, “And I ended up doing the exact opposite.”

She links her arms around his neck with a wistful sigh. “All those years, we racked up a lot of expectations, huh?” She smiles, to let him know it’s okay, and he returns it. “Most of mine were shaped by all those girls that came parading out of your tent, sometimes two at a time.” His cheeks  _ actually  _ color, and Clarke bites back a laugh. “I figured they couldn’t  _ all _ be making it up.”´´

“They weren’t,” he retorts, close to pouting as his hand slides across her lower back, setting her skin on fire. “I promise I’ve never gotten any complaints before.”

Clarke can’t hold back her smirk this time. “Or maybe they just lied to your face.”

He groans half-heartedly, throwing his head back against his neck. “Don’t make me question the only thing I’m good at.” 

All jokes aside, most of their expectations weren’t fueled by anything based on anything fair, on the real truth. This version of her, this version of Bellamy, them together. It was bound to be different. 

“It’s not the only thing you’re good at,” she presses, seriously. Her hands move over his face to cup his cheeks. “You’re compassionate, and smart, and brave, loyal, resilient. You’re perceptive and reliable, so reliable. And I think out of all of us, you know the most about those useless ancient mythological legends.”

“They’re not useless,” he mumbles quietly, taking her bait, his face red. She knows he hates compliments, so she gave him something to defuse the embarrassment with.

She hides a smile, biting down on her bottom lip. “Sure.”

He knows better than to protest right now, so instead he doesn’t say anything as their gazes lock, something new, and wonderful and exciting building between them. 

She adjusts herself in his lap, sliding one leg on either side of his thigh so she’s straddling him. “And Bellamy?”

He’s still looking a little dazed, lost in thought. “Hm?”

“I want you to  _ fuck  _ me,” she declares, the sharp intake of breath he takes at her words thrilling her. “Don’t hold back. Give me everything you got. I won’t break, I promise.”

She watches his eyes grow darker with every word she’s saying until he’s finally leaning up to kiss her. Their mouths move together messily, wet and dirty and wanting. 

Suddenly she feels herself hovering in the air as he rises to his feet, clinging on tightly as he turns around. He tosses her onto the bed roughly, enough for her to bounce a little. Bellamy leers down at her for a moment, taking her in, before he commands, authoritatively, “Take off your clothes.”

She leans up on her elbows, waits for him to tug his shirt over his head, before promptly getting distracted by his chest enough to lose her train of thought. 

“Clarke,” he practically growls, shaking his curls out with his fingers after he chucks his shirt aside. “Why are you still dressed?”

She lets off her lip, which she hadn’t noticed she’d been biting on almost hard enough to draw blood. Manages to keep her voice light and teasing even though she can’t deny she gets impossibly turned on when he uses this attitude on her. She doesn’t usually let anyone tell her what to do, so she can’t really go out without a fight. “Why should I take orders from you?”

His dark eyes narrow in a way that makes her press her thighs together as he takes a step closer to the bed, already kicking off one of his boots. “Because if you’re not naked before I am, I’ll tear them off.”

Clarke can’t suppress the tiny squeak in the back of her throat in time before it escapes, and although she thinks him ripping off her clothes would be seriously hot, she is also still cognizant enough to realize they don’t exactly have them lying around, up for grabs. That, and the awkward breakfast conversation in which she’ll have to explain to Madi exactly how her clothes got torn, has her pushing her pants and underwear down her hips in no time. 

She’s still working on her bra when he climbs on top of her, kissing the underside of her jaw. He licks his way down the base of her throat, varying soft, painless nips with soft soothing kisses against her pale skin. This pattern caused her to make quiet hissing noises every time she exhales, leaving her bra for what it is. 

Bellamy pulls back momentarily, leaning his weight on his balled fists on either side of her head. His mouth is red and swollen and the skin of her thighs are damp enough to start feeling sticky against each other. He looks beautiful in the pale moonlight filtering through the window, and her fingers itch to reach out and trace his freckles.

“Is this okay?” He breathes, slightly out of breath, nearly causing Clarke’s eyes to roll into the back of her head. For someone so brilliant, he’s incredibly dense sometimes. 

“God, Bell  —  you don’t need to ask permission, okay?” She claims, desperate with it, fingers reaching up to palm his cheeks for a moment before dropping to wrap around his shoulders tightly. She’s not sure how to get her message across any more clearer than she already has. “I’m yours. Just do  —  whatever the hell you want to me.”

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice strangled, hurrying to help her get her bra off so he can finally mouth at her breasts. Licking, sucking, kissing, even biting a little, as his hand dips in between them to test her slickness. She jolts at the first bite on the fleshy part of her breast, but it only takes a second for her to moan for more. It’s a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, and she’s not at all too ashamed to admit she gets off on it. 

He slides his length across her slit a few times, and she helps ease him inside of her. He moves slowly as she takes him inch by inch, tilting her hips to accommodate him fully. Bellamy finds her mouth, kissing her deeply to ease the sharp sting as he bottoms out. 

  
No matter how many times they’ve done that, it feels new every time. Better, too. A thrill running up her spine when she thinks about how sore she’ll feel in the morning. If they finally get a morning-after, that is. 

They’re just breathing into each other’s mouths for a moment, his eyes intent on hers as she adjusts. She waits another moment, letting herself bask in this moment of complete connection. Clarke pushes herself up, nips at his bottom lip until he lets out a growl in the back of his throat, dropping his weight into her as he lifts his big hands to cup her flushed cheeks, pulling her closer. 

Finally, he starts moving, almost pulling out completely before slamming back inside of her. It’s both painful and the best thing she’s ever felt. From the first strangled moan she lets out, he stops holding back, not slowing for even a second, hips snapping against hers. 

His hands wrap around her thighs, pushing them upwards to make the angle even better. Her arms wrap around his neck, focused on matching his thrusts with every move of her hips. 

The fire inside of her keeps burning hotter, toes curling and curling with each satisfying connection of their hips. One of his hands comes up to palm her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple in tandem with every pounding of his hips, his pelvis hitting her bundle of nerves just right with every move. 

His body grows tight and she knows she’s not far either, pleasure building. His voice grows all hoarse, dropping low as he speaks, so low she can’t repress the shiver rolling up her spine in response. “Look at you,” he says, a surprising change from how quiet he was the first few times around. “My beautiful girl.”

It’s too much. His cock slamming in and out of her, his words, his weight on top of her, caging her in, pulling all that curling, raging tension so tight that it can’t do anything but snap in a flood of white-hot release enough to make her vision turn black.

She cries out his name throatily as the feeling spreads across her body, clenching around him in the same way the rest of her muscles are spasming with pure bliss. Little shocks of pleasure making her hips buck, which he works her though, fingers moving against her clit enough to push her over the edge again when she’s barely come down from the last. 

It’s as satisfying as she always imagined it would be, only heightened by the way he looks at her like she hung the moon, by the knowledge he loves her and she loves him back, that this is their moment forever no matter how many times they’re forced to relive it. 

Clarke can no longer feel her face, she realizes, as she slumps back on the bed, gasping for air. His thrusts turn more frantic, gaze still fixated on her face as she bites her lip, palms her breasts in her too small hands, playing with them a little just because she knows he’ll like the sight. Grunting her name, his face finally pulls tights, pounding into her one more time before he spills inside of her hotly. 

“I fucking love you,” Bellamy breathes against her shoulder, pressing two soft kisses there. One more, because he can’t stop himself. He’s practically gushing, when he finally lifts his head from her damp skin. “You’re amazing.”

Clarke pushes his fringe back from his sweaty forehead, heart squeezing painfully in her chest. Some part of her will always feel like she doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve him or the kind thoughts her has about her. Not after all she’s done. Another part of her is learning what it’s like to be happy. “I love you.” 

There’s another moment where they catch their breaths in silence, his arms wrapped around her middle and his cheek pressed against her breasts as they bask in the afterglow, this new closeness, a little bit of him and her leaking from between her thighs. 

He rolls off her, staring at the ceiling as he seems to realize the same thing as her. This isn’t the first time they’ve been here. His fingers tap against his stomach thoughtfully. “Do you think we broke the loop?”

Clarke adjusts a little, propping herself up on her elbow and only wincing slightly at the soreness between her legs. He broke something, alright. A teasing smile plays on her lips as she slides a hand over his pec, heartbeat still pounding loudly beneath his skin. “Why, can’t wait to get out of here?”

“Hmmm,” he starts, but then he’s grinning, wrapping his arm around her waist so he can roll himself back on top of her. “Not really, just estimating how much time we have left before daylight.”

Clarke’s forehead creases as she watches him lower himself down the bed, voice wary. “Why?”

“Well, this brings us to what? Like seven to two?” He muses casually, pressing kisses down her throat and then her sternum in between words. Once he noses at the swell of her breast before pecking a spot just below it, he props his chin up on her soft stomach, looking far too innocent for her liking. He’s grinning like the cat who just got the canary and it should probably freak her out, not turn her on. “I feel like I have some reparations to make. You know, even the score. Considering my reputation and all.”

Clarke spreads her legs without even thinking about it, matching his grin without any hesitation. “Well, if you insist.”

And he does. 

(The next morning, she wakes up in his arms.)

**Author's Note:**

> THE UNIVERSE AGREES CLARKE GRIFFIN DESERVES ALL THE ORGASMS


End file.
